


Hypnophobia

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sollux has issues sleeping, frustrated and scared crying ensues</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypnophobia

You are sick to death of being terrified to sleep.

Well, maybe terrified isn't the word. Reluctant. Yes, that's it. You've been purposely trying to avoid going to bed or 'coon for weeks. Of course you end up there anyway, too tired to stay awake for a fourth night in a row. Either that or you clock out at your desk, or on the couch. Once you remember having stood up, blacking out, then waking up on the floor. Nothing too bad happened that time, so it was nice, but you had a feeling it was just because you were too worn out to even think at that point.

So why is it that you ignore the beckoning call of soft sheets or warm slime exactly? Dreams. Nightmares. Even in 'coon you get slivers of them, blurry and muffled as they are. They stick around and fight for your attention regardless of the fact that they shouldn't be able to. For the most part, they're not even that bad, just troublesome. There's the occasional terror where you'll wake up Eridan by thrashing, hissing, yelling frantically, and then he scoops you up despite the fact that you're shaking like a ratty woofbeast and a little sweaty.

You feel bad. You're beginning to think that you're keeping him up more and more as well as yourself. Of course he still sleeps every night, whether you join him or not, but he's almost always awake only a few hours later, coming to check on you and try again in coaxing you to rest properly.

"S'been a while since we've gotten to spoon, huh?"

"You're gonna run out of coffee eventually, and 'm not buyin' you more."

"Sol, you've been marathoning How It's Made for the past six hours."

The royal tries using little tricks he's picked up on you. When you're binge-watching shows like he notes, he'll sit down next to you, an arm around your middle and head resting against yours. He knows you like the feel of him. He's safe, bigger than you, bulkier. The only thing that's missing is him being warm, but you can't have everything the way you want it. Sometimes he pecks at your horns, skritches your scalp or fusses with the hair at the back of your neck. You hate to admit that they all get you dangerously close to dozing off, especially when he's subtle with it and you don't notice 'til it's almost too late and you're absolutely slumped over, putty in his hands. Then you jerk awake and promptly smack his hands away, giving him a sour look before relocating and leaving him to feel guilty. It sucks. You hate it. You hate that you want him to continue, but you won't let him because you're a stubborn piece of shit and you're tired of being tired, yet won't fix it.

You've still not talked to him about this, in all honesty. "Why?" is a question you get often, and you just shrug it off and ignore him after that, ears twitching at his high-pitched, bratty whines, though when they're "Why don't you want to go to bed?" you get snappy. He'd laugh at you. He'd act all huffy-puffy. He'd be offended. All these negative scenarios pop into your head every time you even think about trying to explain that you're actually a wriggler, and that you end up crying in the bathroom more times than you can count. Yes, he's murmured kind, soft words at you some nights, when things get bad. Still, you can't help but worry, and you don't think you've woken him up often enough for him to catch on that it's nightmares that make you avoid him.

Tonight, you have no recollection of having let your head drop onto the desk. Your husktop is on sleep mode, and you feel a hand rubbing shallow circles into your back. Cracking your eyes open for a moment, vision blurry, you stare at the wall for a moment before stirring, making a gurgly noise in your throat that should've been words at the seadweller standing behind your chair. He gives a soft "Shhhh..." and you almost clock back out at that sound alone. Your cheek is wet with drool, the same side of your face awfully hot and likely very yellow from sleeping on it. You feel disgusting. You probably look disgusting too.

When Eridan talks, his voice stays low, like if he spoke any louder the world would fall apart. His hand keeps moving, shifting your body a bit in whatever direction he rubs, you're that limp. "Sol, 'm worried. This can't be good for ya after so long. You're gonna make yourself sick, if you aren't already..."

Instead of growling or spitting something harsh, you just whine in agreement, blinking slow, one eye at a time as if you've been tranquilized by how his backrubs soothe you. He's so sweet at times, when he knows you need it and you aren't up for teasing or playful fights. The quadrant you're both in is a disgusting mix of red, pale, and black (though mostly the first two). You personally wouldn't have it any other way. You sort of feel him dip down, then he presses a sickeningly sweet peck into your mess of hair, pats your back a few times and withdraws his hand. 

Immediately breaking into a keen, you quickly sit up, going cross-eyed at the wave of nausea from the room spinning mildly around you. He's by your side then, cupping your cheeks and making you look at him, still disoriented.

"...You're a fucking mess. What's going on, Sol? Talk to me. Please." He should sound pissed. He probably is pissed, he's just masking it with concern, brow furrowed at you while his thumbs swipe back and forth over your skin. Shivers fly up your spine, lips parted but all that comes out is a pitifully rusty purr, cutting out frequently. You don't make that sound often despite how happy you usually are, so it's not exactly perfect. In fact, you hate it, and the only reason you make it is cause you know Eridan loves it, like it's some sort of feat if he can get it out of you.

When you don't reply in actual words, he starts to pout, letting go of your face to turn your dumb office chair around so he can get a hold of you, one hand underneath you and the other around you, picking you up quite easily considering you're a living skeleton, another thing he worries about deeply. Your protests fall deaf on his ears, though when you realize he's taking you to bed you really start to throw a fit.

"N'h," you slur, a halfassed attempt at a "No," clutching at his shoulders, back hunched and tense all over, ears dipping low while you squirm, trying to get away. You've been too tired to use your psionics for a while now, and even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to focus. You'd likely fry yourself just as likely as you'd fry him. The seadweller sits on the edge of the bed, starts petting you, and you fight it like he's trying to drown you underwater. Your voice starts soft, "No, nonono," until you're practically thrashing as much as you can when he's got a deathgrip on you, headbutting him and screeching in fury, "No! No no no no no!" You're awake, in a sense, albeit everything is kind of hazy and your mind is all over the place, torn between trying to helplessly fight thick arms teamed with the "Shhhhh!"-ing right in your ears and giving in, letting him calm you. In the end you just wear yourself out, having made your voice too hoarse to curse him and spout your frustration, and the general cloud from not having slept makes you too tired to keep squirming, limp against his chest. You hate it. You hate him. You tell him so, "I hate you," words muffled with your face pressed to his neck.

"No you don't," He hums, waiting for a moment to let you settle before his hand returns to you, slipping under the bottom of your shirt so he can rub little circles into the small of your back. You absolutely break. You are exhausted, irritated, upset, it's all been piling up and you can't handle it anymore.

You start to cry.

When he hears the beginnings of your siren-like whine, he falls into crooning at you, shooshing you, a hint panicked, though he tries his best. You feel horrible and don't know what to do. You don't even know if he's helping in the slightest, but by now it's obvious you can't do anything to stop him. It's scary. It's scary for some reason and that just makes you cry harder, taking in deep, shuddery breaths only to choke on them, hiccup as hot tears spill down your face, wetting the fabric of your quadrantmate's shirt. Your nails dig into his back and you curl up, blubbering nonsense that even you can't decipher. The whole room is echoing with your wordless sobs and the foreign noise of Eridan chittering, rubbing all the way up and down your knobby back, petting your hair, kissing around your hornbeds. Nothing helps. You keep crying.

You cough out a very stuffy "I'm thorry," somewhere in the storm of your fit, getting stuck in a loop of "Thorry, I'm tho thorry, I don't detherve you,"-s. Eridan tries to reassure you you did nothing wrong, he's just so worried, what's going on? It's then that you actually try to pull yourself together long enough to hold a conversation with him.

Peeling yourself off of him, leaning back a bit so he can see your face, stained with tears and snot, you sniff, turning your head to wipe your nose on your sleeve. You're still shaking, shoulders jumping with every hiccup that jerks you, though you think you can talk. You don't want to, but for all the good things Eridan has done, he at least deserves to know why you've been steadily going downhill for the longest while.

"I..." Your voice cracks already, you whine and duck your head, a few more yellow-tinted tears dribbling down your chin. "'M a dumbathh. All my fault."

Eridan has to prod you to keep going, only getting more confused from what you've said, though he attempts to keep his gentle manner.

"N-Nightmareth. 'N before you thay anything about thlime, it doethn't work." Another hiccup. You tuck up against him again, letting your eyes close. "Every night. Every fucking night, ED. I c-can't do it. Monthh of it. Nothing h-h-helptth. I've tried thinking about good thingth before thleeping, I've tried n-not uthing my huthktop for an hour before bed, I've tried 'luthid' dreaming. Nothing. They k-keep happening and I'm two tired two thtop them, and they jutht _keep_ making me tired, tho I don't even have the energy t-two make them fuck off."

You're talking fast because you know if you stop you won't continue, tripping over your words. "I've gotten patht the point of even being thcared of them. They're jutht. They jutht, they b-bother m-me. I can't thtop thinking about them. People dying, being chathed, body horror, all that cliche sh-shhhit-" You have to pause just for a second to sniff and whine. "You've only ever theen me freak out a-about helmthman dreamth. Thothe are the oneth that _thcare_ me. Even the dreamth I don't remember thtick around all day thomehow, I fucking hate it and I'm _tho tired_ , Eridan. I'm.. thorry. Thought if I jutht didn't thleep, it'd be better, but I think I fucked mythelf over even more becauthe I'm falling apart. I don't want two thleep again. I really don't."

Eridan is quiet for a moment, processing all you've spilled to him, and you have to busy yourself with shifting constantly and tapping your fingers on his back, staring at the wall over his shoulder with stinging, puffy eyes. Maybe he's coming up with a list of things to call you, or maybe he's going to knock you out for your own good. There are endless possibilities to how this could go down, and all you can focus on are the negatives.

"Honey," he mumbles, making you perk the slightest bit, because that's one of his unusual pet names, one of the sweetest. You almost cry again, screwing your eyes shut instead. "...Why didn't you tell me?"

"...Thcared. Embarrathhed." That's all you offer.

"What am I goin' to do? Dump you jus' cause you're having a rough time? Err, 'rough time' putting it lightly, I guess. Think I'm gonna beat ya and laugh at your pain or somethin'? 'Haha, Sollux Captor has nightmares, what a nerd!'" Scoffing, he pushes your shirt up a little more, scratching lightly between your prominent shoulderblades in careful spirals. "No, God, now I feel kinda betrayed because I might've been able to help this whole time. Not once have I looked at you after a helmsman dream and thought 'I hate havin' to do this, Sol is such a chore and I'd rather leave him to sort his own problems out, they're childish anyway. 'M too tired to be shushin' him. Bluh bluh huge douche thoughts.'"

He shakes his head, letting you remain silent because you're absolutely drained. You squeeze him a bit, huddle closer, give another pitiful sniffle. Your face is a sticky sort of dry now, but you don't care. At least you got that off your chest.

"What do you want me to do, then? If anythin'?" He offers, leaving kisses buried in your scruffy hair, pecking at the bases of your horns. You are so tired. You want to sleep right now but at the same time you don't. You wonder if that'll ever be fixed.

"...I don't know." You rub your face against his shoulder, lazily cleaning off more of the aftermath from your crying, though it feels like a nuzzle. His hand eventually stills, you don't complain, just give his neck absentminded kisses. "Wath jutht, 'fraid you'd think it wath all bullshit 'n dumb." Your face is so warm you know for certain Eridan can feel it, flustered at having to talk about this, sort it out, though if it helps you you'd be willing to do just about anything.

"You already do a lot for me. More than I fucking detherve. But." A pause as you mull over it, Eridan letting you take your time, starting up a low, rolling purr of his own that you can listen to and feel against your thin chest. You relax a little more in his grip, kiss his neck one more time, so sweet that you should both be culled on the spot. "I guethh if you don't mind me waking you up, it'd be nithe if you could help me get back two thleep. 'Cauthe I've found that'th kind of an issue. Don't get your hopeth up though." Shifting a bit, you sigh, just as disappointed as you know Eridan likely is. "Feel like nothing'th going two make them thtop completely."

The highblood hums an "Mhm, I know," adjusting his grip on you, holding you close. It's calmer now, how he handles you, tentative and slow. His hand leaves your shoulders to fuss at your hair again, trails the tips of his nails down your arched neck. "Anything, if you'll at least try. Tonight? Considerin' that you passed out in the middle of a game, and it's been a few days..." He trails off, hopeful. You aren't going to tease him, but you're not going to go out of your way to make it all sound good either, so you just nod and he seems satisfied.

Both of you stay there for what feels like an hour, but in reality is closer to maybe ten minutes, you balled up in front of him and his hands petting you all over, nuzzling you, giving you little kisses. He talks for you, sometimes asks questions that you can give quick answers to.

"Y'think we could do a movie night sometime soon?"

"Yeth."

"Or maybe I could just tuck up with you when you watch How Its Made. Dunno why you like it so much. Seems like a weird show."

"'Th interethting. Thoothing. Better than your dumb hithtory showth."

"Huh. Really."

Finally he lets you go, though he offers to stick around if you want him, and you say yes because once you've got a taste of his cuddles, you can't wean yourself off of them. You go and pluck your husktop off your desk, then turn right back around and get settled on the bed, propping your upper half with pillows while Eridan cozies up by your side. You mess around for a while, looking at videos, chatting with others, anything to keep you awake until the usual time you're supposed to sleep. You're sure Eridan dozes off himself a few times, since you're not all that interesting to watch, and the most noise you make the whole time is a soft laugh or a huff. When you take note that it's technically getting "late," you give Eridan a nervous glance, nudging him with your elbow to rouse him. He gives a tired "Hnnm?" and a rumble, slowly starting to stretch as you shut your husktop down, staring at you with eyes half-lidded. For a moment you feel jealous that he can sleep and enjoy it, though you try to brush those thoughts away as soon as possible, instead sort of just, leaning over the side of the bed and sliding your husktop underneath it. You're too lazy to get up, and that way you won't step on it or roll out of bed and crush it, in case Eridan isn't awake to catch you.

Both of you never left hive or planned on it, so there was no need for formal clothes, and thus no need to change for bed. Eridan used to put up a fuss about you sleeping in your clothes all the time, but he'd come to terms with it after a while, and you'd even caught him doing it a few times, too, the hypocritical walnut.

When you're safely all the way on the bed again, he's already under the blankets and waiting for you to join him, slipping an arm under you as soon as you do. The room is silent aside from the noises of your shifting, moving the sheets because you're trying to get as close to Eridan as possible. You hide your face against his chest and he threads his fingers through your hair. Settling in bed or 'coon is so second nature to the both of you that you don't think twice about it, you just let it happen. It's nice. One less thing to worry about.

Now comes the hard part. Or, well, it's not so hard when Eridan helps, but it's more like the sequence of events is hard to deal with. Sleeping means dreaming. That's the _only_ thing that bugs you, and here you are partially willing to face it. Somebody should give you a medal, immediately.

Silly thoughts aside, you still struggle. You claw for the surface of wakefulness, fidgety and whining, pretending you can't get comfortable anymore. After a while Eridan gets fed up, grumbles a "Sol, stop," and you do with a guilty "Thorry..." At that point you're focused solely on forcing yourself not to move, then your thinkpan gradually escapes you as you end up letting the fog take over with a strange pleasure at resting your battered self, almost like being handed a blanket in a hailstorm. Not much help, but better than nothing.

You dream. It's a nightmare.

Everything is abstract, all over the place. Colors hurt your eyes as you watch slightly outside your body, wandering this.. _space_. It takes the form of a vaguely familiar hive at some point, though eerie with too-harsh orange lights. The walls and floors are a deep, vivid brown. You see Eridan's silhouette and are overwhelmed with relief, sick of having been on edge for who knows how long. You break into a run towards him in vain, because no matter how hard you try you don't move anywhere, and suddenly you notice your limbs feel numb and heavy at the same time, mocking you via draining your energy until all you can do is collapse onto the unreal ground and cry again, staring at the figure just out of your reach.

He moves to another room. You pitifully attempt to crawl after him. It takes forever and the floor feels disgustingly fuzzy under your hands (are those the blankets?). You need your matesprit, and you haul yourself through a splintering doorframe to call out for him. You're certain he won't listen, but you keen his name regardless. You just want him there to hold you and he won't come. He won't come no matter what you do. He's ignoring you. Yet you don't blame him. Your subconscious jumps at that self-loathing, feeds on it, things get dramatically worse, to the point where past you (from maybe three months ago) would have burst a blood vessel laughing at how pathetic you are. You aren't laughing.

Suddenly he's all over you, spitting insults and every flaw about you he can think of. He's an imposing sight from your strangely disembodied "camera," angled up at him while he glowers down at you, yellow eyes glowing, cold, hateful. Not even the competitive rivalry kind of hate. More like he's tempted to vomit at the mere sight of you after he beats the piss out of your blood hate. You're queasy too, thanks.

He spouts that you're "useless," a "nuisance," complains he never wants to see you because all he ever does is take care of you, and what about him, huh, Sol? Why are you so selfish, Sollux? Why don't you hold him as much as he does you?

You have no answers besides garbled hiccups and sobs, listening to this nightmare apparition of your sweet matesprit hiss and screech at you like a rabid meowbeast, the speaker of all your buried fears, hiding the fact that they make no sense by taking advantage of your blinding terror.

The time between your dream and when you wake up blend together perfectly, and you take a solid minute to figure out that your cheeks are wet for the second time today, that the Eridan in front of you isn't the same one from before. He's safe. Oh God, he's so safe.

You let yourself cry a little more before you shake him by the shoulder, whispering unsteady, panicked little "Eridan"s, blinking away hot tears that turn cold when they make a damp spot on your pillow. He's so out of it, but eventually his eyes flutter open while he makes the sleepiest grumble ever. You'd think it was cute if you weren't in desperate need of some shooshing right now, and shooshing you get once he gets an answer out of you to his "What's wrong?..."

You barely manage "Night-" before he's adjusting his hold of you, cooing slurred "Sol"s against one of your horns. He's so different from the other.. "him," you're almost certain for a second that _this_ is a dream and you're grasping for straws. But then he's shifting, sitting up, pulling you with him, your own hiccups and wrigglerish keening sounding far away. He gathers you into his lap, blankets and all, slightly warm in patches from you laying next to him. The royal rocks you a bit, still mostly asleep, but he keeps murmuring. "I got you, I got you..." Your bloodpusher is clenching like the way your throat keeps closing up, choking on tired cries while he kneads the knobs in your back. For the most part, you're kind of quiet. You've definitely been louder, in crying and in making other noises, but at the moment you're simply whining into Eridan's neck and clutching helplessly at him. You're so tired, you're scared you'll fall asleep on him, and you tell him you're fucking terrified. He says he knows, he's sorry, he's trying and you have to collect yourself a bit, just to tell him he's fine and you're so grateful, so glad you have him.

It becomes an emotional moment. You don't care. You care so little that you kind of roll with it, let your mumbling of "I love you"s melt into you starting to explain your dream.

"It.. You w-were there. And," you can already tell by the way he tenses up that he can't figure out which way this'll end. "There w'th thith hive. I.. fffuck, getting mickthed up. Hive, and, thaw you, tried two.. get two you, could b-barely move," you pause for a moment, taking advantage of how patient your matesprit is being to make sure you know what to say, to steady your voice.

It takes a while before you cough it all up, nearly clocking out numerous times, so you're surprised Eridan seemed to listen at all when he was also busy nudging you awake every few seconds. Whining and hunching your back further, you finish with a stuffy "And then I woke you up." That's it, really. Saying it aloud makes it seem much less.. _uncomfortable_ than it actually was. Eridan would've had to experience it himself, because you can't quite put words to the crippling anxiety that overcame you in your sleep. You wouldn't wish that on him though, even if it meant you didn't have to go through it anymore. Or at least, you're pretty sure you wouldn't. It makes you feel better, thinking you wouldn't.

He let's it sink in, never once lulling in his ministrations, scratching at certain spots on your scalp and behind your ears, petting that you simply don't want to fall asleep to, because that means you wouldn't be able to appreciate it.

"Y'know I'd never do that, yeah?" The violet mumbles, leaning back to look at your gross, yellow face, cupping your cheeks and swiping his thumbs back and forth across the flushed skin like earlier. "Never. I promised you."

When you look him in the eyes you almost want to scream, simply because you don't know what to do with all of this energy and emotion. You just cry instead, nodding and getting out a gurgly "I kno-ow." You feel sick. Sick because of stress, sick because you've fished so much Goddamn pity these past few weeks, but today even moreso. Somewhat hesitantly, you offer a "Thorry," nosing against him with a few shaky inhales, grip on him tight as if you might die otherwise, shrinking in on yourself slightly when he huffs an indignant "Don't be sorry."

He's apparently awake enough to try and kiss at your horns without impaling himself, and you appreciate the gesture, but at the moment it just seems so silly that you can't help but give a fussy noise, pat at him blindly in an attempt to get him to cut it out, and though he acknowledges your protests, he chooses to ignore them in favor of increasing his kisses and the surface area he covers, leaving audible pecks in your shaggy black hair, smooches around the keratin of your horns, kisses on your forehead and ears when he gets you to pull back. You whine at him, voice hoarse and scratchy and only being made worse by the high-pitched noises, yet you will persevere.

You persevere for roughly three seconds before he quiets you with his lips on yours. You hesitate, staying stock-still for a while, then relaxing bit by bit, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt just to hold him, since it provides a strange sense of comfort. He approves and let's you know with some louder purring, loosely holding you while you just sit there, a mess of blankets and half-dried tears. For a second it looks like he's done, pulling back a bit, but then he comes right back to give you a peck, and he can't stop at just one. You end up getting kissed all over, though its a slow process, what with Eridan not wanting to overwhelm you. His lips ghost over your cheeks, drifting over to kiss your scrunched up nose, embarrassed at him, _for_ him. When he gets to your eyes, he pauses, making you wait with one of them screwed shut, scared he's going to pull some weird shit and lick you or something. All he does is give an inaudible sigh, petting your cheek and kissing you right there. You relax a bit, not so much screwing your ganderbulb shut as much as simply keeping it closed. The seadweller moves down, smooching the atrocious purple bag under your eye and you whine.

"Shh." It's soft, so soft, so gentle, not angry at all. You whine again, squeezing his arm. He ignores you, goes back to his work, kissing one of many signs of exhaustion on you over and over, then moves to the other side, giving it the same treatment. You just leave both eyes closed, soaking up the affection while you can, yet it does quick work of coaxing you back to the brink of sleep. You're barely aware of Eridan slowly leaning back, holding you more securely so you don't slip off to the side somehow, settling down and adjusting your now-limp body on top of his chest. He breathes in, out, rhythmic, like his hand rubbing your back. Somewhere in a corner of your mind, you think you like the feel of the fabric being pushed around over your skin.

You don't notice if he says anything to you. He just lets you fall asleep, never once lulling in his petting, mouthing kisses into your messy hair. It's this blanket of sensations that you think about last, before you really doze off, and it sets off something in your bloodpusher. A warm, soft feeling. The one that lets you know you're loved, that there could be no doubt about it, a certainty that you'll be okay as long as Eridan is there when you wake up. He promised, you trust him, the stubborn idiot. You love him so much. You're so lucky. It can get better.

You sleep. You do not dream.


End file.
